Slow Dancing In A Burning Room
by MomentarySetback
Summary: “The more anger towards the past you carry in your heart, the less capable you are of loving in the present.” Eric and Calleigh's feelings for each other come into the light, but the timing isn't quite right. Set in Season 3 or 4.


I woke up with this idea in my head after falling asleep watching the episode where Eric loses his badge while out toothing. I thought there was a huge gap between Eric and Calleigh's first meeting (as seen in the promo for Season 8) and his outright feelings for her in Season 6... In thinking about that, I felt like there _had_ to be at least a moment where their feelings for each other were addressed. Eric's behavior in Seasons 3 and 4 pretty much explain why they weren't together then, but it's obvious they've had an attraction to each other for a long, long time and that had to have been discussed at some point. So, this came about...

A big thanks to **TexasJen** for previewing this, reassuring me, and giving me a great suggestion. :)

* * *

After last call, the bar was winding down. Save for the clanking of bottles as the bartender cleaned up and the low rumble of chatter as a few patrons ended their late nights it was actually rather peaceful, Calleigh thought. It was nice to feel normal for a while, nice to have a couple beers with co-workers and pretend they hadn't witnessed the aftermath of a massacre today. Nice to pretend they didn't have a profession in which they could lose a co-worker and friend in the time it took to pull a trigger as they had last year. Nice to pretend the new guy wasn't Speedle's replacement.

But life moved on. Time didn't heal everything, but it sure made moving on easier. Even Eric, who had had more than a few irrational outbursts and had sought solace within the body of stranger after stranger, was at least making attempts to move on.

At that thought she tapped his knee in a friendly manner and asked, "Ready to go? I'll drive you home."

Her touch surprised him. Even through the layer of his khakis and the guise of a friendly tap, he could tell her touch was soft. She was gentle, despite her proficiency in firearms and her ability to take down a two hundred pound man. And she was beautiful.

He suddenly realized he'd been staring at her hand, now in the neutral territory of her lap, and he shook his head slowly.

"We were all drinking," he said, nodding towards the beer bottles littering the table of their now-empty booth. "I'll call a cab and have the driver drop you off on the way."

"Eric, I switched over to water after my first beer three hours ago," she told him, a hint of amusement in her voice. For the first time he noticed that the beer bottles were concentrated at his end of the table, where he and a few of the techs had been, and that there was a clear glass and several lemon wedges on Calleigh's napkin. Maybe he'd caught quite the buzz…

"Oh." He smiled, placing his hand on her thigh and rubbing back and forth in a gesture that was just slightly more than friendly. "I guess we're good then."

With that, they were zigzagging their way out of the bar, maneuvering between mostly empty tables. They walked to her car in silence, his hands in his pockets, her purse over her shoulder. The drive was much the same, their minds both plagued by the case and Speedle and each other.

He hadn't even realized they'd made it to his house until she was turning into his driveway, releasing a deep breath she hadn't realized she was holding as she slid the gear from drive to park.

"Come in for a little while," he suggested out of nowhere, meeting her startled eyes. "There's no way I'm going to sleep anytime soon after that case today."

She knew she would be wrestling with the same insomnia if she went home so she nodded softly and cut the engine. "Okay."

She hadn't been in Eric's house in a long time, not since a week before Speed died. The three of them had ordered pizza and rented an action movie to make fun of the terrible cop stereotypes and impossible stunts. Speed had spilled Pepsi on Eric's couch and Eric threatened to kill him. She wondered if he regretted that, if he even remembered… He probably did. Maybe it factored into his angry outbursts and his meaningless nights with random women.

The first thing she noticed was that he had a new couch. The second was that everything was different.

"So, uh," he began hesitantly, tearing her from memories. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" She dropped her purse onto a table in the foyer and searched his eyes with hers.

"The case," he said unsurely. "I just…I didn't know…"

"What?" she demanded, slightly defensive. "A neglected kid kills his alcoholic father and I'm supposed to have some sort of childhood flashback?"

"Look, I didn't know," he said again, no trace of his easily-sparked temper in his tone. She was the one person he wouldn't blow up on. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Though she crossed her arms over her chest protectively, her eyes softened at his genuine concern and the defeat in his voice.

"I'm okay," she assured, much softer this time. It was warm and she was tired of work clothes, so she slid her gun from the holster on her belt, set it on the table, untucked her blouse, and removed it so she was in a comfortable tank top.

With a courage he could only attribute to the lasting effects of alcohol, he took a few steps forward until he was close to her, close enough to touch. And he did, reaching out to lay his hands over her bare hips where the tank didn't quite reach her black pants.

"I'm sorry," he told her honestly, holding her in one of their awkward inter-office hugs.

"For?"

"Assuming," he said, smiling apologetically. "Stereotyping."

"You're fine," she assured, smiling back at him as she crossed her arms over her chest again. She probably didn't know she was doing it, but he did, just like he'd noticed her eyes glaze over with fear and understanding when the boy admitted his father had taken more than a few swings at his mother yet again.

His thumbs slid over the curve of her hip to caress her abdomen and suddenly the mood changed. She realized why they'd never done this before without Speed. Being alone with Eric and their unresolved sexual tension was more than a little dangerous.

"Eric," she warned, shifting slightly under his touch. He wasn't ready to let go yet. Unsure of what exactly he wanted from this – from _her_ – he moved his fingers against her warm skin still, letting his eyes trace the beautiful slope of her neck and curve of her collarbone.

"I've always thought you were hot," he admitted, a handsome little smirk gracing his features.

"Okay," she said decidedly, laughing as she placed a palm against his chest to push him away. "You've had too much to drink."

He half-laughed, half-sighed, shaking his head. "I had a slight buzz and that wore off a long time ago."

She looked away, lifting a nervous hand to run it through her hair absentmindedly.

"Calleigh," he urged as she tried to move away from his touch again. _"Cal."_ He held her hips firmly and at the sound of intimate nickname she met his eyes.

The questions he had for her died on his lips as he took in her perfect features – the shape of her face, the light undertones in her fair skin under the soft light in his foyer, her wide, green eyes.

With a cautious hand he ran his knuckles over her cheek, mindful of boundaries, and swept his thumb delicately across the soft pillow of her bottom lip.

"You're beautiful, too," he whispered, their eyes emotionally locked. As much as she feared this moment, she couldn't look away, crossing the lines of professionalism, friendship, and emotional depth they had been dancing around.

"Eric…" she breathed out, her eyes imploring him. He had never loved the way someone said his name so much. "What are you getting at here?"

Brushing her hair behind her shoulder, he traced her collarbone with his finger and moved up to her neck, his eyes following his fingers over her creamy skin. His eyes flickered to hers and he smiled. "I think I like you."

"You like me?" She raised a brow, feeling as though she were in fifth grade again. Though she was unable to deny the little rush of something that dashed through her, she could easily attribute how right this felt to the common knowledge that Eric could lay on the charm.

"Yeah." He chuckled sheepishly and yet he was completely confident.

This was the Eric Delko she knew existed but rarely saw. Her first day on the job he had come on strong; now and then he still made a quip, but she still knew he was a charmer. He had a girlfriend more often than not and they usually didn't last long. After his toothing stint following Speed's death, she'd questioned his ability to even have a real relationship.

"You like a lot of girls, Eric." She leaned into his touch in an affectionate sort of way and then frowned sympathetically. With a hesitant hand, she grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away from her tempting skin.

"I like you now." He resisted the urge for a minute, letting only his left hand smooth over the curve of her hip, but soon his other hand was mirroring that one.

"Yeah, and what about tomorrow? Will you like me then, when we have to work together? Will you like me this weekend, or will you have moved on to some girl you met at a club?"

He couldn't lie to her; he didn't know what tomorrow, or this weekend, or this month would bring. He had always gone from relationship to relationship, and after Speed had been shot he found the whole relationship thing to be rather unnecessary. Why wine and dine a woman when he could meet up with a new girl each night who wanted to get straight to the point? Sex was the only pleasure in life he found to be purely physical. Friends, family, dating, laughing, and even solving a particularly hard case all required thoughts and emotions. He didn't want to deal with it. He didn't want to grieve; he wanted to replace his anger with something purely physically pleasing.

His feelings for Calleigh seemed to get in the way of that, though. He wanted to touch her, talk to her, kiss her, taste her… Wanted something deeper than sex, and it was confusing. She deserved far, far more than what he could give her right now – even more than what he could _try_ to give her. He didn't even know what the hell he wanted with this.

Frustrated, he released her, resting his hands on his own sides.

"I don't do hook-ups," she said confidently. "I won't be another name on the lengthy list of Eric Delko's conquests." She wasn't angry and it wasn't insulting; it was just true, and he knew it. But her eyes, usually so guarded and unreadable, were as open and honest as the day was long. Delicate lashes framed a deep green sea of desire. She adored him, too, had wanted him since day one when their energies just seemed to collide into a massive black hole of sexual tension. But until the day came when he wanted the same things in a relationship that she did, they would be dancing around these lines of friendship and intimacy.

"Yeah, you shouldn't be," he agreed regretfully. "I'm sorry that I, uh…" He stopped, running a hand through his short hair and collecting his thoughts. "Tonight was kind of weird for me. We haven't done this since…"

He couldn't finish it off, but she could. "Since Speed died?" she supplied for him. "I know." She nodded, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. "It'll get easier."

He scoffed, shaking his head as he smiled sadly. "You sound like my shrink."

"Sorry," she said apologetically, smiling a little. "I guess I should probably go…"

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," he agreed, not trusting himself with the temptation of creamy skin and golden hair – the temptation of _Calleigh._ "I'll see you tomorrow."

Calleigh nodded, tucking her gun back into her holster and grabbing her purse and shirt in one hand. "You'll be okay?" She didn't want to patronize him; her tone had just the right amount of honest concern.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," he assured, smiling a little. "I won't do anything stupid. I'm just gonna try to go to bed."

"Okay," she said, still looking at him with a hint of worry. "Goodnight." She touched his forearm affectionately as he whispered a "goodnight" in return, and with that she was gone.

His first instinct was to leave, to find something to occupy his mind until his body was so physically exhausted it wouldn't allow him to think before sleep. But that was wrong. It was unhealthy and it got him into trouble. He had lost his badge, and no matter how badly he needed a diversion, he would again never risk his job for a temporary release.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand on his hip, and took a few deep breaths. Finally, as a last resort, he grabbed the notebook his department therapist had given him and settled into bed. He hated the idea. Women kept journals and he had never been one for writing his thoughts down anyway; he was sure it wouldn't do a damn thing. There was no point in it, but he would try anything to regain the respect and trust of his co-workers, supervisors, and family. He wanted to regain _Calleigh's_ respect. An eyeroll and a condescending comment from her had cut deeper than anything else had in the past year.

So he grabbed a pen from his nightstand and wrote. He wrote that Ryan had sat in Speed's little corner of the break room today. He wrote that he'd wanted to punch something. He wrote that Calleigh had taken him aside, a firm hand on his shoulder, and helped him calm down. Calleigh, who had never asked to be a mediator but was so good at it, could rein in his temper with a blunt but calming remark. He wrote that he found her incredible, and that he wasn't even sure what that meant yet. He described the "emotional" parts of his day as his therapist had asked him to, and though it didn't necessarily help it was nice to see his words – his _anger_ – scrawled across the page, contained in one space.

When he was done, his eyes danced over the page, one word continually jumping out at him: Calleigh, Calleigh, Calleigh. _Calleigh._


End file.
